


things you said between your teeth

by thought



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle is just trying to be a good leader. Given Washington's history, it takes a while for him to catch on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things you said between your teeth

"Right," Doyle says, reordering the stack of datapads on his desk for the fifth time. "I'll talk to the gentleman from the newspaper office and let him know we'll be needing a strong media presence. I will of course leave you in charge of security."

"Great," Wash says, teeth clenched in frustration. "Wonderful."

"Minimal, if you will, and as discreet as possible."

Wash does not roll his eyes. "Sure," he says. "Sure, General Doyle. I'll do that."

"Excellent. Thank you, Washington."

Wash leaves before he starts banging his head against the wall. Wouldn't do much in the helmet, anyway. He sees Donut just heading into the elevator, and hurries to catch the doors before they close.

"You've got the go ahead to start talking about the press conference," he says. Things are still a little awkward between the two of them (or at least to Wash they are) but it's still nice to have a familiar face around so he can express his frustrations without risking being branded treasonous.

"I don't think you can call it a press conference if there's only going to be one newspaper there," Donut says like Wash is a confused child. "It's more a very carefully framed statement."

Wash huffs. "Yes. It is. A reporter just happens to stumble across the Federal leader on his way out of Temple, giving him the perfect chance to provide some not at all pre-planned sound bites about how he values both traditional and progressive ideals and one can't survive without the other and I'm not sure who the fuck he thinks he's appealing to, most of the old money families are dead or already hate him, and the New Republic is going to see it as attempt to pacify them, which it is."

Donut holds up his hands. "You have a lot of feelings about this, huh? I think it's a nice message. Nothing too drastic or upsetting-- that's all getting slipped through in the policy development and negotiations."

Wash exits the elevator ahead of Donut. "I guess that's why you're managing PR and I'm not," he says.

"Aww, don't let it get to you," Donut chirps. "At least we're not parading General Doyle around to every restaurant and grocery store we can find just to prove he's 'just like any other citizen'. Do you know how many people I've talked to who are scared that General Kimball's gonna come by and they'll wind up with their whole business as the sight of an assassination attempt?"

Wash says, "Doyle wants minimal security. I've already had to talk to a Sannyasini from the temple.""

Donut frowns. "Oh. Would it help if we brought cupcakes? I had a bunch of the kids from agriculture and farming over to my place last night for a baking competition, and there's lots of leftovers."

"I'm going to go drown myself in the river," Wash says flatly, and goes to sign out a car so he can go over to the military base and brief the soldiers who will be working security. He draws up a security plan while he drives. It's obvious Doyle's idea of minimal protection is naive; the entire endeavour is supposed to be kept quiet and last for no more than five minutes, but Wash has no doubt that Doyle's presence at the temple and subsequent statement to the media will be common knowledge long before it actually happens. If Doyle insists on going ahead with his bullshit political platitudes, Wash is at least going to make sure he doesn't get himself killed while doing so.

*

Doyle exits the temple at seven-thirty PM, and a professionally charming reporter is there to meet him. So is a rainstorm, naturally. Wash hangs back at the top of the steps with two more soldiers, but the reports from his perimeter guards warn of blurry sightlines. Another guard has already checked the reporter for weapons, and there's a line of soldiers keeping a barrier between Doyle and the rapidly expanding group of curious onlookers.

Wash has to give him credit, Doyle's better than he expected at making it sound like he's really sincere about what he's saying. He sticks mostly to script, and there are a couple times where he starts to stammer, but overall the entire thing is probably a success. Nobody gets shot. Wash catches a glimpse of one of the doctors from the New Republic standing just inside the doors of the temple, and the blatant disdain she's projecting matches his own. They share a moment. It’s super.

Wash and his two fellow guards step forward once the brief interview is complete to escort Doyle to the car. Doyle settles into the back seat and shakes the water out of his hair cheerfully.

"I think that went rather well. I remember that reporter from uni, actually. We were in the same English classes. It's a small world."

"Of course you were. This just keeps getting better," Wash says.

Doyle smiles tightly at him, then turns away. The soldier in the front passenger seat is watching the social media feeds on her datapad, and by the time they get back to the Legislature she's started taking notes. Doyle scrolls through on his own datapad as he's getting out of the car, and his forehead creases.

"Thank you all very much for your assistance this evening," he says, nodding to the soldiers. "I do hope you enjoy what is left of your day, and as always my door is open at any time should you have anything at all you'd like to discuss."

He walks quickly towards the elevators, eyes back on his datapad. He navigates unerringly without looking up, and wash can easily imagine him as just one in an endless sea of bureaucrats walking these same halls.

"Agent Washington," he calls. "Would you join me?"

Wash nods a good night to the soldiers and jogs to catch up with Doyle. Neither of them speak until they get to Doyle's office, and Doyle gestures for wash to take a seat while he settles behind his desk.

"Washington," he says, and he sounds... concerned. "It was my understanding when we last spoke this afternoon that the security presence at the temple would be discreet. Was I unclear in my request?"

A muscle in Wash's jaw twitches. "No, you weren't."

Doyle sits back. "Then I must say, I am... confused. Were their circumstances of which I was unaware? Was there a threat?" He sounds legitimately baffled, and it takes a second for wash to realize he'd honestly thought he'd somehow failed to express his request earlier.

"Look," Wash says. "You're not going to like this, but to be frank, you don't really understand what you're dealing with. It's not your fault, but unless you've been on the ground in a war it's almost impossible to understand the lengths people will go to for a cause."

Doyle frowns. "Well, as my entire planet has been at war for the past few years, and I find myself in the unenviable position of leader of the entire government, I might venture to argue that I am quite familiar with the lengths to which people will go. But naturally you are far more qualified than myself in matters of military force. That being said," he slides his datapad across the desk. "I might ask that you afford my area of expertise a similar respect. Politically, tonight's events simply served to further distance me, and by extension the federal government, from the people of Chorus."

Wash tips the datapad up so he can read it. The social media feeds are open, and the first post he sees is an image of the back of Doyle's head, barely visible over the armoured soldiers maintaining the barrier. 'General Doyle believes his message of peace about as much as we do,' the caption sneers. The next reads 'looks like you've got to be in bed with the Feds to get an interview'. The third 'General Doyle still forced to take precautionary measures against unruly crowd.'

Wash blows a breath out between his teeth. "To be fair, the entire thing wasn't exactly ever going to drum up the sort of support you were hoping for."

Doyle frowns. "You know this, do you? All I wanted to do tonight was speak to my people. All of them. To provide some reassurance in an uncertain time. There are other ways to draw public opinion, and I'm quite happy to use them, but in amongst all the politics I've also got the job of being a leader. Is it a job I'm qualified for? Certainly not. And it's not what I would've chosen. Yet here I am, and it would be irresponsible and shameful to do anything other than my best."

"That's a nice speech," Wash says. "But not everyone is going to care that you're doing your best. Look how many people tried to assassinate you in the first week alone."

"Which is why I've got you."

"Which is why I need to make the decisions that best serve to keep you safe."

"You didn't even bring the issue of inadequate security to my attention," Doyle says, frustration edging his tone.

"Would you have listened?" Wash retorts.

Doyle blinks, rubs his face. "Yes. That is the entire point of employing experts, Washington. To listen to them. To be quite blunt, at the end of the day how I choose to proceed in regards to my own conduct and wellbeing is my decision, not yours. But I'm certainly not going to simply ignore the input of my staff. The Sargent told me before we found you you were teaching your squad how to be better. I don't see how this is any different. It's not your place to make decisions for me, Washington, but I will always be open to learning from you. and I will always take your analysis and opinions under serious advisement."

Wash has to resist the automatic urge to hunch his shoulders under the onslaught of words. The familiar acid taste of shame that comes with fucking up burns at the back of his throat, but instead of thoughts of how he could've done better he finds himself focusing on images of Tucker and caboose leading their own squads, echoing his own words back to the next generation of soldiers. When he looks up, Doyle's smile is small and gentle and something like hopeful. His hands are lying palm up on the desk. Wash forces his muscles to relax, and carefully unseals and pulls off his helmet.

"Yeah," he says. "I can do that."


End file.
